ginny's exhaustion
Ginny had always been a fighter. It was something she’d inherited, both from her family and from the countless battles she had fought throughout her life. But this fight, this endless tug-of-war with grief and exhaustion, was one she wasn’t sure she could win.
She had always prided herself on her resilience. The girl who could stand up to any bully, the one who had survived the horrors of the war, who had fought alongside her brothers, her friends, and Harry. She had seen things no one should have had to see, and yet, she had managed to keep going. But now, now that the war was over, now that Harry was sick and barely hanging on, she felt like she was running on empty.
She had been awake for hours, barely able to sleep, though she had tried. Her body was exhausted—aching, stiff from too many nights spent sitting beside Harry’s bed, or pacing through the house in worry. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind drifted to the chaos of the battle, to Fred, to all the people they had lost. It felt like she was drowning in it, and no matter how hard she tried to keep her head above the water, the grief kept pulling her down.
She didn’t even know what the word “rest” meant anymore.
Ginny had seen the toll the war had taken on her family—on Ron, on Hermione, on everyone—but she hadn’t realized how much it had worn her down, too, until now. Harry had always been at the forefront of her thoughts, but in the past few weeks, since the battle had ended and Harry’s illness had worsened, it was as if her body had decided to shut down completely. She was exhausted in a way that wasn’t just physical—it was deep in her bones, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep or food could remedy.
The worst part was that she couldn’t let it show. Not to Harry. Not now. Not when he needed them the most.
She walked into the kitchen, the familiar hum of the Burrow settling over her as she saw her mother preparing a meal. It was the same routine every day—her mother trying to keep some semblance of normalcy, trying to feed them all and keep the family together. But Ginny could see how tired she was, how strained the lines on her face had become. Her mother had always been the pillar of strength in their family, but Ginny could see how much she was breaking beneath the weight of everything.
“Ginny,” her mother said, turning as she heard the door open. “You should try to eat something. You haven’t had much today.”
Ginny didn’t respond right away. She glanced over at the counter, at the steaming bowl of stew, but her stomach churned. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d truly been hungry. The exhaustion was eating her alive, and the thought of food felt too much to bear.
“I’m not hungry,” Ginny said softly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Her mother’s expression softened, and she came over, placing a hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “You need to take care of yourself, dear. You can’t keep running on empty.”
“I know,” Ginny replied, though the words felt empty. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going, pretending that everything was fine, that they were all going to be okay.
She thought about Harry again, about the way his body had withered over the past few weeks. The fever, the constant pain, the way he barely spoke anymore. She hated seeing him like this, hated knowing that despite all of the love and care they were giving him, he still seemed so far away. It felt like she was losing him all over again, only this time, there were no battles to fight, no curses to cast. It was just waiting. Watching him slip away while they all did their best to hold on.
“Ginny,” her mother said, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’re worried about Harry, but you can’t help him if you don’t take care of yourself. You have to rest. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on fumes.”
Ginny didn’t answer at first, letting her mother’s words hang in the air. She could feel the weight of them pressing on her, the reminder that she couldn’t keep doing this forever. The truth was, she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
She didn’t know how to stop.
A noise at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Ron walking in, his face tired, his shoulders slumped. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, though Ginny knew that wasn’t far from the truth. They were all running on empty.
“Ginny, you should lie down,” Ron said, his voice unusually soft. He moved toward the counter, grabbing a glass of water. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I’m fine,” Ginny lied, though even she didn’t believe it. She hadn’t been fine for weeks.
Ron didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press her further. Instead, he sat down at the table next to her.
“Is he okay?” Ginny asked, her voice a whisper.
Ron’s eyes flickered briefly toward the door, as though he was making sure no one else could hear them. “He’s still not responding properly. His fever’s still high. He’s… he’s not getting better.”
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push away the fear that was slowly overtaking her. They had all tried so hard to stay strong, to put on brave faces, but it was getting harder every day. Every minute spent watching Harry slip further away from them made it harder to keep the facade intact.
She leaned back in her chair, suddenly too aware of how exhausted she really was. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. Spiritual. It was the weight of everything—the war, the loss, the fear of losing Harry—that had pushed her to the edge. She could feel it, like a deep ache in her chest, the ache of grief and helplessness. And the worst part was that no matter how much she tried, no matter how hard she fought to hold it together, it kept coming. She couldn’t outrun it.
She placed her hands on the table, gripping the edge as if it could hold her steady.
“Ginny, we need you to rest,” Ron said again, his voice insistent. “I don’t know how long we can keep going like this if we don’t start taking care of ourselves.”
Ginny nodded, but the words didn’t make her feel any better. She could see the truth in his eyes. They were all burning out. And no matter how much they cared for each other, no matter how much they loved Harry, they couldn’t keep going like this. Not for long.
“I know,” she said quietly, standing up from the table. “I’ll rest. But only for a bit. I’ll be back to him soon.”
She needed to be strong. She had to be. For Harry, for Ron, for everyone. But as she walked toward the stairs, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just her body that was exhausted. It was her spirit, too. And no amount of sleep could fix that.
The fight was becoming too much.